Daughter of the Éothéod
by Not That Girl
Summary: Before Rohan was Rohan... Before the Rohirrim were the Rohirrim. Before the House of Eorl... When the Horsefolk still dwelt in the Upper Anduin Valley. Anyone can challenge fate...
1. Feast Day

A/N: This idea for a story belongs to my dad. Yeah, he thought of it. But it's a good idea, so I'm writing it.

I own (kind of) Kára, Myst, and Sváva. Anything else belongs to those nice folks [kofftyrantskoff] at Tolkien Estates.

- - -

"All hail King Léod!"

The cheer resounded around Kára as she delicately made her way the crowd. Wærfer was just ahead, grinning, a cup of mead in his hand.

"Late as usual, eh, Kára?" he asked. "You know, maybe if you actually got here on time for once, you wouldn't have to do that."

"But I've gotten so _good_ at pushing my way through groups of drunken Éothéod," she decared. Then her mother spotted her and came over. _Oh dear_, she thought. _Mother will know I was late_. Kára herself didn't mind being late - as she had told Wærfer, she was good at slipping through masses of people, and reaching her family or friends. Unfortunately, her mother, Ælfwynne, was trying to get their family a higher standing in the eyes of Léod, lord of the Éothéod, and her only daughter always being late was probably not a way to do that, especially on feast days. Kára couldn't see how being late today would do anything: all most of the people gathered there were already drunk, Léod included.

Ælfwynne reached her children, Wærfer still grinning, Kára looking like she had been there for hours and, consequently, bored to death.

"Where have you been?" she asked, addressing Kára.

She tilted her head, appearing to think hard. "Well, let's see. I was over there--" she pointed to a table where her friends Myst and Sváva were sitting "--and then I was here!'

Her mother did not believe her; the look on Ælfwynne's face was incredulous. "You were?"

Kára nodded. Sighing, her mother walked away.

"Close one," said Wærfer, and he motioned towards Myst and Sváva's table with his cup. "Better go make sure dear mother doesn't check with them."

For once, her older brother actually made sense. She headed over.

"Kára!" cried Myst. "You're alive!"

"We thought for sure your mother would have run you through, for being late on such an important day," Sváva added.

"And of course, you see, everyone noticed my late arrival. Which is why they're all staring at me."

Myst and Sváva laughed; no one (except Ælfwynne) even cared about Kára's chosen time of entry, least of all Kára herself.

Kára was small, easily overlooked, especially by the warriors who trained the children of the Éothéod in fighting. Myst and Sváva were cousins, taller than Kára, and skilled in the use of a sword, both on horseback and off. Kára was not overly fond of weapons, but, like all of the Éothéod, could use some. Their lifestyle was not a peaceful one; they were constantly fighting off intruders from the South, and, of late, the Greenwood. Some among them were beginning to call Greenwood the Great Mirkwood instead, and rumors told of darkness taking hold on the forest.

As for Kára and her friends, they couldn't care less about a shadow in the Greenwood. They spent their days riding, practicing with weapons, and lazing about, talking. However, they were often called on to help their families, or, on feast days like today, celebrate everything -- from family to horses to king to their very way of life.

"What'd I miss?" Kára asked.

"Nothing much. Lord Léod gave a speech--"

"Which was boring," interrupted Myst.

"_Giese_, very boring and very long, and then there was a toast and you came in."

"Mm."

"You were lucky you missed the speech though, Kár," Myst informed her.

Kára smiled. "You sound like you hated it."

"I did."

"It wasn't so bad as Myst makes it sound," said Sváva thoughtfully. "There was some stuff about Gondor in it."

Myst smiled as well. They both knew of Sváva's interest - bordering on obsession - with anything to do with Gondor. Though they both found Gondor interesting, neither of them were as intrigued by it as their other friend.

"He said that Gondor--" Sváva broke off as Myst clasped her hand over her cousin's mouth. "Mmph!" she protested, and attempted to remove Myst's hand.

Laughing, Kára watched them fight. They three spent the rest of the feast either trying to talk about Gondor or trying to prevent talking about Gondor.

Little did they know how much Gondor would affect their lives.

- - -

A/N: _Giese_ is Old English for 'yes'. Tolkien never actually says that the Rohirrim/Éothéod had feast days, but in a way it makes sense – the Anglo-Saxon/Norse societies (off which the Éothéod/Rohirrim are based) did. The names are either Old English or Old Norse, both of which are suitable, as Tolkien's Rohirric characters have either Old English or Old Norse names.

And no, the plot has not really come to light yet.

Also, the title may change.


	2. Death

A/N: Still not much plot in this chapter. And I still don't own it. [sobs]

- - -

Several mornings later, Kára and her brother were awakened by their mother, shaking them gently and murmuring, "Wake up! Wake up!"

"What, Mother?" asked Kára sleepily. She sat up, propping her self on her elbows.

Her eyes widened as she took in her mother's tear-stained face. Ælfwynne simply stared blankly at her children.

"What is it, Mother?" echoed Wærfer.

She gathered them to her and whispered quietly, "Léod is dead."

"_Hwele_?" questioned Wærfer, stunned.

Kára gasped. "_Hwu_?"

"His horse, the one he has had since it was a frisky colt, he tried to ride it--"

The same thought raced through all their heads: _but it will bear no man_. It had first been said long ago by the few wise men who still lived among the Éothéod, when Léod first found the colt, a prophecy Léod had scorned. He had always said that it would bear him, for he had raised it.

"And it threw him, as he tried to ride it, and his head hit a rock, killing him."

"Dead? Truly dead?" It was Wærfer who ventured the question; Kára could not absorb it. Their merry king, dead? So young, too - he was only two-and-forty.

"Yes, _deore_," answered Ælfwynne. "Dead."

Then something hit Kára's numb mind, waking it up. "But who shall take his place? Surely not Eorl..."

She trailed off as her mother nodded. "Eorl shall take his place. He is, after all, Léod's son."

"But he's my age!" burst Wærfer. "Only sixteen summers!"

"Yes, Eorl is young. He is also his father's heir."

The family sat together in silence for a while. Kára's father had died, long ago, fighting would-be invaders. She hardly remembered him, but Wærfer did, and he felt for Eorl. Losing a father is hard, whether he is a poor man or a king.

No work got done that day. All were lamenting their dead king.

Well, saying _no_ work got done that day isn't technically true; people began preparing Léod's funeral and decorating houses for the time of mourning. However, none of the work that was normally done was left unfinished, from the time the Éothéod first heard of Léod's death, 'til the next morn.

After she ate a scanty breakfast, Kára wandered out to find her friends. They were looking for her, too. It was less painful to mourn together, and from the time when Kára's father had died -- when she was five -- they had done so.

"_Deore freond!_" cried Myst. "Aiya!"

"Myst! Sváva!" she called as she raced over.

Sváva's thoughtful face was grieved. "It's hard to believe, isn't it? I keep thinking someone's going to say, 'It's all a mistake, Léod isn't dead, it's just a mistake,' but they're not going to, are they?"

_Nic_, thought Kára. It's not, but I wish it was.

They roamed their little settlement for the rest of the day, weeping and occasionally helping out with the preparations. As Sváva had said, they all had hoped it was nothing more than an error; a mean joke, perhaps.

The other children, they could tell, thought much the same, except for the littlest ones, who did not understand. One particular little boy, Cælin, was a stubborn babe, and would not believe his mother when she said that Léod was not coming back.

"Lady," began Myst, as Cælin continued to pester his mother, "we would not mind watching your son, if you need to work."

His mother turned to them with gratitude in her eyes. "Would you please, Myst? He won't mind, I know."

Myst nodded and gathered Cælin up in her arms. "Happy to, Lady."

The friends were glad of Cælin. He was naturally a happy child, and as he didn't understand that Léod was dead, was still happy, despite the sadness of those around him.

"Myst?" he asked. "Why's everyone so sad?"

"They're strange people, Cælin, that's why," answered Kára absent-mindedly.

"I asked Myst!' hew told her indignantly, and rammed her with his head. "Hey!" Then she laughed, despite herself. He was so sweet, so young, so -- well, so innocent.

Then Sváva started to laugh as well, and Myst was giggling hopelessly. "You should have seen your face!" she gasped.

The other people, their faces etched with sorrow, stared at the laughing young girls with a mix of shame and, in a way, happiness: not all was bleak if they could still be merry. Cælin was stupefied as to what was so hilarious.

"What's so funny?"he kept inquiring.

At dusk, they returned Cælin to his mother. "Thank you, Lady," Sváva said. "Cælin is indeed a gift."

His mother smiled - barely, but she smiled nonetheless. "He is. I am lucky to have such a _fægen bearn._"

She thanked them for watching him, and Kára, Myst and Sváva left to their respective homes. At Kára's house, Wærfer and her mother were done with dinner, which Kára (late as usual) had missed. She ate some of the left over food, then dressed for bed.

As she slept that night, peacefully, a young man stayed up, perfecting a plan for revenge.

- - -

A/N: Lotsa OE in that chapter. Glossary:

Hwele = What

Hwu = How

Deore = Dear

Deore freonde = Dear friend. I'm not sure that this is proper structure, but it gets the meaning across.

Nic = no.

Fægen bearn = happy child. See above note on structure.

Anybody who knows where the names Kára, Myst (Mist) and Sváva are from gets a box of Krispy Kremes!


	3. A New King

**A/N:** I'm so, so, so sorry, I haven't updated this in more than a year… :( I'm pathetic, I know.

In the last chapter, that last sentence may have been way over dramatized. The "young man" refered to in there is, indeed Eorl.

And sorry, again.

* * *

Kára rubbed the sleep from her eyes as the first rays of sunlight crept into her room – the room she had always shared with her brother and mother. Looking around sleepily, she was surprised to see she was the only one still there. 

Where were Wærfer and her mother?

Frowning, she climbed out of bed. Then she remembered – Léod was dead and Eorl was crazy.

* * *

"_Hwele?" Sváva leaned her head closer to the woman who was speaking – Ragnbjörg, an elder woman who had worked for Léod before his death._

"_Giese, it's true, Eorl is putting off King Léod's funeral!" It was dark outside, and the fire from the hearth in Sváva's home threw eerie shadow's on the old one's face. Kára, Wærfer and Ælfwine had joined Sváva, Myst, and the rest of their family for supper. Léod's death had cast a shroud of melancholy on the Éothéod. They were drawing together, pulling closer to each other._

_Léod had just died two days ago, and Eorl had just been formally crowned that morning. Now, it seemed, his grief was getting to his head. _Why would anyone put off their father's funeral? _Kára wondered._

_

* * *

_

Wærfer and Ælfwynne had gone to see why Eorl was doing this. They had no formal advisors to the King, but perhaps they needed one; at least for kings as young as Eorl.

Kára pulled on her daytime dress and left the little dark back room where they slept. The main room of their house was bigger, but it seemed more confining to her. She hated how it reminded her of her father: his sword and shield hung on the wall above the fireplace, waiting for Wærfer to come of age and use them. For Kára, because she would never use them, they were just shining, metal reminders of the warrior father she had never really known.

Tearing her gaze from the weaponry, she looked down at the fire. The embers were in the "dying" stage of their life.

_Death is just everywhere this morning,_ she thought. Then she went outside to where they kept the firewood. Grabbing an armful of firewood, she paused for just a second to admire the sunrise, and a second longer to note that further down the road, at the meeting-hall, a great many people were raising a fuss about something, before going back inside.

Because they had no windows, it was important to keep the fire going. It was something every man and woman of the Éothéod had been raised with from childhood, and had been driven so thoroughly into Kára's head from the day she was born, that the usually the first thing she noticed in a room was how high the fire was burning. Everyone attended to everyone else's fires – at least here, in the main dwellings of the Éothéod. She didn't know how it was done elsewhere. Here, at least, several of the fires were said the have embers in them from the time of the Mæst For, when keeping they didn't have time everyday to start new fires, so they kept pieces of the old ones alive.

Kára built up the fire, then sat down in front of it and waited. If this had been any other day, she would have gone about her normal morning chores. But today was special, because no one really knew what was going on.

She hoped Eorl wasn't really crazy.

* * *

After waiting for what must have been hours, she finally decided she would have to go and see for herself what was happening. She stood up, straightened her skirt resolutely, and strode outside.

Kára realized she had only been waiting a half-hour at most.

_Oh well,_ she thought. She walked down the road to the meeting hall anyway.

The double doors were standing open, and the sound of annoyed voices floated out. She stepped inside and out of the light streaming through the door, letting her eyes adjust to the shady hall.

A great number of men and a fair amount of women were packed inside, sitting on benches in rows. Sigrún, Léod's widow, was standing in the front of the crowd, clearly trying to calm down the clamoring mass of people. Kára slipped into a seat in the last row. Her nerves thrilled with excitement. Maybe now she was going to find out why Léod's funeral was being delayed.

Maybe the reason was something horrible.

She hoped it wasn't, because the last thing King Eorl needed right now was a war. _Or some other tragedy_, she added as an afterthought. But if the reason was bad, no doubt one of the Éothéod's enemies had seen the death of a young king (Léod had only been forty-two, and in times of peace, they usually lived much longer) as the perfect opportunity to strike at them.

She tried to ignore her nerves as Sigrún finally got everyone calm and began to speak.

"I know many of you are outraged that my son, King Eorl, has postponed the late King Léod's funeral; before you speak more, let me explain to you why he has."

Kára found, as always, that Sigrún's voice mesmerized her. She spoke softly but with an air of such unimpeachable power that when she said something, you listened. As far as Kára knew, no one had ever interrupted or questioned her. Sigrún was, without any doubts, a lady.

"My husband Léod died when he feel from his wild horse, as I'm sure you all know. What is not known so widely is that the horse escaped afterward. King Eorl is going to marshal a hunt to catch this horse, Man-Bane he's named it. And then, before we mourn Léod's passing, the horse will be killed."

As soon as Sigrún stopped talking, a murmur went through the hall. Kára turned to her neighbor, a member of the King's Guard, and asked him if it was true.

"I don't know, _bearn_, this is news to me two," he answered her.

Sigrún stepped down from the raised dais at the front of the hall – _swept_ was the word Kára thought of – down the center aisle, and left.

* * *

_Glossary:_

Hwele – What

Giese – Yes

Bearn – Child

Roughly, this means "Great Journey". I'm using it to refer to the movement of the Éothéod into the Upper Anduin Valley.


End file.
